


From The Shadows

by Breezytealy



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: DB next gen, Established yet not officially canon relationships that will appear:, Future featured characters:, Gen, Pan Uub Trunks Bra Mai, Plus all canon ships that appear at the end of DBZ, Trunks/Mai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 15:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13250727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breezytealy/pseuds/Breezytealy
Summary: Saving the world from galactic threats is one thing. But when the media shows disaster after natural disaster and the guilt from not saving lives to live your own in peace mounts, what do you do?Covering specific events between ages 794 to 804, Marron and company's recollections chart the rise and struggles of her and her friends' own particular brand of superheroing - Shadowing. Although, nothing is ever as straightforward as you'd want it to be.





	1. Lies and Promises (part 1)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Groundbreaking Science: The Guide to Ki-Control -- Son Gohan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951899) by [Breezytealy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breezytealy/pseuds/Breezytealy). 



 

"Wait! Wait!" At least once a week Marron found herself holding ZPress's elevator doors for Berbere. Always in the morning, always in some kind of disarray and always sprinting the length of the lobby to get there if she had to - kitten heels clacking on the marble and drawing the ire of everyone in reception with an as-of-yet-unsated caffeine addiction.

There was never any reason to run - these encounters were at eight-thirty sharp and meetings throughout the building didn't start until nine thirty to accommodate parents of school-aged kids. No one had to clock in and out (a blessing and a curse) and she'd never heard of an elevator taking an hour to return. Marron could ask what the hurry was of course, but she'd found some minor mysteries were better left without the exposé.

Still, each time Berbere would call out in desperation, ever the hero Marron would 'save her life', they'd chat and then rarely bump into each other outside this context. It had been this way for years; like the clockwork emergence of political scandals and the economic up and downturns that sent them all into a frenzy, it was just another rhythm of the building.

But today would be the day that beat finally changed. Upon recognising Marron her gaze dropped. She entered the elevator with some hesitation, beat Marron trying to be helpful to the button for her floor and stood ramrod straight, intently reviewing the safety information. No start of a chirpy inquiry after her week so far or a launch into an excitable retelling of petty third floor drama. The doors closed and they, for the very first time, were plunged into a deep, awkward silence.

Something was, evidently, very wrong. Marron wracked her brain.  _Was_ this unusual? Sometimes Berbere would keep her chit chat subdued if the elevator was crowded, though today they were completely alone. Had Marron caused offense? It couldn't be to her, although maybe she had ties to others as part of a clique. But Marron couldn't dredge up even the most minor transgression she'd made in the last week to warrant avoidance from anyone. Was Berbere the type to be awkward around bad news?  _What bad news?_ Whilst this building absorbed gossip as its lifeblood false rumour rarely travelled, so  _that_ wasn't it. The change in Berbere's demeanor was so abrupt, so unexpected, in shock Marron spent the entire ascent running through every possibility like a rolodex, meanwhile waiting for their standard conversation to begin, as though Berbere had just glitched out.

But the elevator pinged for the third floor and Berbere stepped out without a word, leaving Marron in the dark. Then, as though remembering the social convention that they should at least exchange some form of pleasantries, she spun on her heels.

"Why do you take the elevator?"

"You t- sorry, what?" That was not Berbere's usual parting line. She jammed her foot in the door to prevent Marron's upwards escape. Whatever had been on her mind finally tumbled out.

"Running up the stairs should be easy for you, right? It's only six flights. So. Why do you take the elevator?"

And then it dawned on Marron. After all these years it had finally happened. They knew.

Her breath caught in her chest. For a passing acquaintance on another floor to know news must have spread like wildfire overnight - the burning bush the network of smartphones that connected every journalist in the building, Marron sleeping in the centre without so much as a warning shout and waking too late, surrounded. What would happen first? Would she be burned to death by her editor or merely suffocate under the glares of her colleagues? In a moment she remembered every time she'd lied to them. She was praying they didn't.

"So it  _is_ true." Berbere had quite correctly surmised the meaning of Marron's stunned silence.  _Journalists._ Well, two can play at that game, and there was only one surefire way to win this one.

"Off the record - yes," Berbere's face lit up hungrily; she'd be able to work her way around the paltry disclaimer to find a better source no problem, "But to save you your morning - Red wants the byline on this one, and you know how he gets."

Her shoulders sagged in understanding, but her pout belied her frustration. "Oh. Well. Let me know if you want a profile at some point, anyway. As a token of our friendship I'll let you have copy approval, unlike these  _other_ hacks." She removed her foot from the protesting elevator. "Nice to see you."

"You too…"

The doors rolled shut, and Marron was left staring at her blurry and pocked reflection in the indifferent steel.

_Crap._

Whoever had found the serialisation of Gohan's book on ki-use, whether they'd been passed updates as part of an investigation or were already a paying member of the Pan Fighting Network, they hadn't bothered to fact-check with her before mass-messaging the building. But from the dribs and drabs mentioned in the book about  _a_  superpowered Marron you didn't need to be a investigative journalist to work out  _she_  was that Marron. It could have been anyone sparking the ensuing firestorm.

With so few people in the world officially able to read the book 'Groundbreaking Science', after a jumpy first few weeks post-release she'd stupidly started to relax. Gohan had said the news of identities would take a while to percolate, that there'd be enough warning through online chatter for her at least to get ahead of it at work. She was an idiot to trust a mere scientist over her own intuition. Trunks' name was the biggest reveal in the book, that and Gohan's hinting about the Cell Games. She knew it, her identity would be dragged along with the breaking excitement. She should have come clean from the first chapter - why did she have to be such a chicken?

She was thankful she'd dressed smartly today, knowing she wouldn't need to visit contacts for story leads. It gave the impression she was prepared. Her hair was loosely tied over her shoulder and for a moment she was pleased she'd be able to hide behind it.  _No._ Tutting at herself she quickly twisted it to an updo, removing the temptation to shrink away.

Marron wondered whether adding lipstick stripes across her cheeks would help her feel braver, too.

As her ascent slowed she grabbed her phone.  _Book's hit office._ Her thumb hovered over send, before gliding back to the keyboard.  _Not feeling great._ Sent.

Goten's reply popped up in moments.  _There's always the window._

Despite her butterflies, she snorted. Months ago he'd suggested that if she was going to make an acrimonious exit she may as well make a show of it.

The elevator pinged for her floor and Marron took a steadying breath to try and bring her stomach back up. The laundry list of apologies she needed to give distilled. There were going to be too many questions at once to handle everyone correctly and someone was bound to get upset. But in the end though, only one opinion truly mattered. She stepped out.

Marron had breezed into the open offices every weekday for years. Someone of the broad team of forty of so would look up and nod, or smile, or wave, or toss across messages and letters that had found their way to the wrong desk. But as half empty as The Cave was now, never had she struggled to get passed the threshold from the sheer weight of eyes. It felt like walking late into class - no, worse, those eyes would look away uncaring after a moment. This was walking onto a stage late and choking on your lines. Some deliberately averted their gaze and she was grateful but the ripples of apprehension would have been palpable even to someone unable to read ki.

She parted the usual suspects near the stock tickers without so much as an  _excuse me_ , the silence unnerving her further, making her way to the smaller team of investigative journos at the back. A tunnel of attention enveloped her journey to the cluster of desks and it took every ounce of her self-restraint not to speed up to cover the last few metres.

Duran was there first as always, the familiar shock of blue hair clashing with his coveted bright red noise-cancelling headphones - didn't he run a fruitless investigation into the city's Hero Liaison a few years back? One  _she'd_ scuppered on the sly? Completely oblivious to the room he only spotted her as she ducked into her chair.

"Marron!" He yelled, a sensible volume on any other day but the only effect now was to silence what conversation had already returned in her wake. This was her tipping point. The heat rose in her face and she sank down from reflex. Undeterred he stood to see over the low partition, attracting the full attention of everyone in the room again. "Marron," he sang, his impish grin unrolling itself, "heard you've been holding out on us! You really  _could_ arm wrestle the Bear!"

Laughter rang out, the tension in the room snapped -

_THUD_

\- then snapped back with a vengeance. The class whipped round to the noise. One huge, grizzly paw had slammed open blinds onto the corner office glass, two dark eyes now glaring out. The silhouette of a looming bear - an unsubtle reference to Marron's impending doom she numbly noted - framed them. Red didn't even have to point for Marron to know she was being summoned. Thankfully he broke eye contact first, twisting the slats shut again. She finally exhaled and turned to Duran, his headphones now on kilter and slightly perturbed at the crowd he'd unknowingly attracted.

"While I'm in there," Marron whispered, "could you find me a cardboard box?"

Duran shook his head. "He's not gonna fire you."

"Want to bet?"

"Lunch," no discussion, there was hardly ever a discussion for bets over Duran's lunch, "across the way at the South City place."

Marron nodded, swallowing the rising fear, hand going absentmindedly to her capsule pendant. Five steps and she was pushing open Red's set ajar door, blood in her ears.

* * *

Red didn't look up from the morning papers straight away, circling and highlighting up key stories in the financial section of the The North Star taking all his attention. The Bear had been Marron's mentor then editor on-and-off since she started in the industry eleven years ago, fresh from college. He'd tried to drag her away from Satan City on every one of his sidesteps and promotions, the highest praise he could ever give, but she'd stubbornly stayed near home. He'd always come back though, citing one weak excuse or another. As formidable and daring a journalist as he was, like her - she guessed - something was keeping him tethered.

Her deception was always going to be uncovered she knew deep down, and the longer their working relationship the harder the day would be. 

After a minute or so he gently closed the paper, smoothing it with his great paws and gestured for her to sit in the oversized chair in front of his desk. She loathed that thing. Sitting all the way back in it was fine for another bear but it made her legs dangle and her feel like a child. However she had no choice to refuse him, so she perched on the edge where she could ground her feet, preventing any nervous twitching.

Red took a moment to consider then began what Marron knew to be their parting words. He spoke softly.

"Marron. When I am not the first to hear news I may as well be the last. Particularly concerning one of my own team, no less. Do you know how that makes me look?"

The long pause meant she was supposed to answer. She steadied herself and looked up at him. "Not great?"

"A damn fool." He pulled out a stack of webpage prints from under his papers, held together with a bulldog clip. The book! He idly flicked through the pages, a number of them with his infamous sticky notes - watching him apply them with his huge but dexterous claws was always engrossing for an anthropoid like herself. She never thought she'd be more terrified of the notes than the claws but here they were. "I'm behind on my routine as I spent all night reading this. And do you know what I found? You. If not on every page some reference or tidbit that drew lines between your many eccentricities and work. 'Why does she shy away from some stories and connections I know she could chase? How does she always have an oar in hot-spot locations? What kind of self-delusion affords her such confidence in the field?'"

He dropped the pages shut. "I am going to ask you a series of questions and you are going to answer them completely honestly and off the record. Do you understand?"

He looked down at her again then, a delicate yet inscrutable gaze. She swallowed and nodded.

"Good. Are you currently, or have you  _ever_ used information gained in your position here, whether through your own procured contacts or in story pitch meetings, to aid Capsule Corp in any way."

That threw her.

"N-no,"  _oh God, no_ , "only ever to swerve discussion of-" she waved at the printouts "-everything in there. And I never passed  _that_ information on, they had no idea." Red blinked once with skepticism. "Honestly! We fell out over it for a while, when I wouldn't tell him about the weapons factory in-"

"Him? Trunks?"

"Yes."

"The arms smuggling story I put you on?"

"A few years back," the guilt of that betrayal found her again, even though she'd been in the right. "I couldn't declare the conflict of-"

"I remember you trying to back out." His paws were together now, a hulking mass leaning over the desk in thought, seams of his shirt fit to burst. "You were acting out of character and I was insistent. I believe you." He grunted, decision final. "Next. Are you a Shadow."

This is more what she was expecting, and she was almost relieved to answer. "Yes."

"Who?"

She took a deep breath. "Even with the serialisation it's still our policy not to speak or give away identities outside of uniform as it's more than just us now-"

"Marron." A little sharper. "Who?"

From her hesitation he'd probably already guessed. Her eyes rested on one of the many framed front pages covering the wall, the candid shot of her silhouetted in black and cradling a child, the school fire blazing behind them. The story that had given her her moniker.

"Auntie. Auntie Shadow."

The silence stretched.

The office outside had almost returned to normal; almost - she could sense an inordinate amount of attention winding its way through the glass. The view was lovely from up here, too. She could definitely dive out those windows. Then she wouldn't have to see that impossibly saddened face.

"Auntie Shadow," he repeated. In Red's deep voice it came out almost a growl. "We have much to discuss."


	2. Lies and Promises (part 2)

Stepping out the revolving doors that evening was a blessing to Marron. Despite the warmth and the lingering humidity, walking into a world where no one knew her face - not quite yet - felt refreshing, a literal weight lifted for a time. Her phone beeped, and another riff on the usual message flashed on the lock screen. _Ready and waiting, mon capitaine!_ He was ridiculous. She fought back a smitten smile. At least _he_ wouldn’t change.

She wove her way through the throng of faraway office drones to the alley corner where Goten would always wait, away from the jostling this time of the evening. He didn’t need to message to tell her he was there of course; with barely a sweep she could find him no matter where he was on the globe, so intimate was her knowledge of his ki signature. No, the point was the message itself, the reassurance his mind was on her and he would be there, dutifully waiting. And he always was - after a fashion.

“ _Daddy!_ ” An almighty scream from the alley pierced through the hubbub, a toddler’s scream, _her toddler_ \--

“Goku!” Marron pushed passed the last few people to fall into the narrow street. Then paused, relieved, to seeing him safe - though clearly distressed clinging desperately to his father’s foot, trying to pull him back to the ground. Goten on the other hand was having the time of his life.

“ _Oh no!”_ Goten called, “Daddy’s blowing awayyy!” His arms were above his head, balloon string in hand, making a show of holding on for dear life as though he was being tugged skyward. The balloon wasn’t _quite_ playing along with the charade, bobbing in the wrong direction with the funneled breeze, though Goku hadn’t noticed. The idea that his father could fly was of course absurd, but balloons definitely could.

“ _Noooooo!”_ Another scream of horror as Goten flew a few inches higher, the little boy now stretched to arms length, face contorted in effort and half buried in the shirt riding up his chest.

“If only you’d held onto the balloon properly like the first thousand times I asked you to!” Goten reeled off, trying and failing to hide his amusement.

“ _I promise I promise!_ ”

Marron couldn’t leave them any longer. “Daddy forgot his heavy boots again today, huh?” She stood just behind them, blocking as much as she could of the street’s view.

“Oh hey!” Goten twisted in the air and grinned, fully enjoying his reign of terror. “So, we thought we’d meet you after work--”

“Mommy, _help!_ ” Goku’s eyes were welling with tears. He was torn between running towards her for comfort and the life-or-death task of weighing his father down. “Gravity kiss, gravity kiss!”

Goten made a show of presenting his cheek, and she leant in to indulge them both with a light peck. Inhaling sharply with apprehension but still holding tight, Goku waited for her magic to take effect. The ki supporting Goten’s acrobatics gave way at his silent command and he fell heavily onto the cobbles - to be immediately bowled backwards by the blur of a laughing and relieved toddler now clinging to his neck.

“What a good little man,” Goten ruffled the boy’s hair, “trying to save me like that, thank you! And what do we say?”

Goku turned his face upwards then, rosy-cheeked and tears forgotten, with that wholesome mishmash of a smile inherited from both his grandfathers. “Thank you, Mommy!”

“No problem sweetie,” she crouched next to her small family to take the balloon and wrap the string round Goku’s wrist, “and who gave you _this?_ ”

“The balloon man.”

“And where was he?”

“The park!”

“I picked him up from Nana Eighteen’s late this morning in case you took the window,” Goten explained. _This morning?_ He preempted her question, raising his hand. “Don’t worry I haven’t had to close - Hasa’s in charge, and judging from updates she’s ruling with an iron fist...” He trail off with only the mildest of concerns for his part-time baristas. “But I can clear the café with a call.”

His pre-planning was more than welcome, if overkill. “It’s fine. We’re not going to be door-stopped - tonight at least.” Marron gave the balloon a test tug before returning the string to Goku’s grip. “If this was a present you have to be careful. Try to hold onto it this time.”

“Promise!” He grinned again.

“You keep saying that kiddo,” Goten stood, boy firmly supported in one hand and dusting himself down with the other, “I'm not sure you know what that means.”

Far more confident than he had any right to be Goku clambered up and across his father's shoulders, scooting until he felt comfortable and Goten had hold of his knees. “Giddy up!” With his excitable gesturing Marron could see exactly how and _why_ Goten had to keep retrieving a skyward balloon.

“It’s very busy out there,” Goten spoke gravely, “you’ll have to tell us the way home.”

“Promise!”

Marron couldn't help but laugh, though her brief respite from worry was short-lived - a jolt went through her at the sight of two middle-aged women at the other end of the alley, openly staring, shoulders sagging with the weight of department store bags. When did they get there? Had they seen? Goten hadn't got too much air but the angle he'd been hovering at was impossible without invisible support.

They made no move to approach but now was not the time to linger.

“Where to?” She called up, suppressing the concern from her voice best she could.

“Left!” Came the command, and a point in the correct direction. They obliged their son.

* * *

Now lost in the flow of tired city workers, Marron finally felt safe to speak. “Goten, I think you were seen.”

“Oi!” Goten admonished, making Marron jump. He was shaking his watch out of Goku’s grasp, “don’t play with buttons.”

The boy pouted down. “I promise…”

He loved that chunk of a watch, and for Goten to be so quick pulling it away meant the safety lock was still sporadic, a week after he said he’d get it looked at. Marron bit her tongue; it wasn't like they could fix it there and then.

“I know they saw,” Goten answered brightly, his nonchalance surprised Marron, “you have to admit I’m a _pretty good_ mime. They’ll be getting glasses tomorrow.”

“What if they’d taken a picture?”

“What does it matter now?” A light nudge to her hip with his, playful and reassuring. “Front page tomorrow, right?”

She swallowed. “Um, actually…” he turned his head at her hesitation, her concern finally reaching him, “actually, Red gave us some time. At a price.”

“Oh.”

“He wants to have his ducks in a row, I guess. He said the news wouldn’t be anywhere. I’m positive he’s even spiked it from the _wire_. I’m not sure _what_ favours you can call in to do that.” Something nagged at her again, the way his sombre tone picked up when she handed over the bag of tapes, when he presented his offer. “He’s going to publish the day of the Cell Games reveal.”

“You told him?”

She shook her head. “He’s put two and two together.”

They lapsed into silence again, the bustle and Goku’s oblivious humming masking it. That would be in just over a week’s time, and was signposted as coming even if no one else knew the precise day Gohan’s serialisation would update. Could they last that long? Even with Red’s promise the complete anarchy and anonymity of the online world meant news, even the supposedly suppressed type, could travel faster than they ever could. And then of course if her friends and family were starting to get flippant from the inevitability… For the first time she was seriously planning a statement rather than readying to dissect someone else’s.

“Probably should’ve worn my heavy boots, then.” Goten flashed a wry smile.

Marron returned it. “We all should be.”

The flow of people slowed to a halt for a crossing. From his perch Goku gave a sentry’s commentary.

“Red light means stop. Oh! People stopped!” He said with some surprise, then giggled, excited at his new power to command.

“What you seeing, buddy?” Goten called up.

“That’s a blue car, that’s a red car --” he gasped when looking the other way, eyes agog at the passing traffic, “-- truck…”

“A _truck_? What colour?”

“Umm...” he tugged at the balloon string, “this colour!”

“Yellow?” Marron offered.

“Yeah!”

“ _What_ colour?”

“ _You_ know…” he rolled his eyes. They'd been working with him on this one a while.

“You’ll get it right if you keep trying.”

He huffed, then whispered. “‘Low…”

Goten shrugged his shoulders to bounce him as a prompt. “What was that, champ?”

“YE-LLOW!” He clapped his hands to his mouth in apology, not expecting to be so loud, then giggled again, pleased with himself.

Goten whooped, shaking the boy’s feet, and Marron reached for a high five.

“Good job!”

“Yeeellooow truuuck lello- le… yellowww truuuck,” he sang tunelessly, half-struggling but confidence restored. _Close enough_. Some in the crowd laughed along with his joy. Thankfully Goku couldn’t hear over his performance.

“How old is he?” A suited and booted older gentleman next to her asked. He was one of the chucklers, and had the glint of a fond memory in his lined eyes.

“Three and a half,” Marron beamed.

“Well now, what a smart kid you are!” Goku spun round at the voice and waved.

"Thank you have a nice day hope to see you soon!”

More sniggering escaped the crowd around them.

“Hey, I don’t sound like that, do I buddy?” Goten implored, but Goku was back to watching the lights. “Do I?” He turned to Marron in desperation. She shrugged, but was unable to fit in a tease before Goku interjected.

“Green light means hold hands!” He held one out to her and she dutifully took it, Goten taking the other. “Forward!” came the next command, and they marched in line with the surge across the crosswalk.

No sooner had they hit the other side and dropped hands Goten had to call out again. “Goku! _What_ did you just promise me? Leave the watch _alone_.” The boy raised his hands.

“Not me!”

“Sure…”  Wisely untrusting Goten went back to holding the boy’s knees.

Marron couldn’t help herself. “If it's still broken take it off.”

Goten recoiled from her in turn. “But I feel naked without it! And what if I need to use it?”

Her eyes rolled so hard it almost triggered eyestrain. His stubborn streak had a tendency to surface for the most minute nonsense.

“Do what you want, but _I’m_ not dealing with the fall out.”

“Noted.”

“Right!” Came the call from above.

They peeled off from most of the pack, still following a busy road but away from the main route to public transit. Nearly a third of the way home.

Goten finally returned to their original conversation. “What price is Red asking?”

She winced at the recollection. “More work. It, unfortunately, has to be a regular column--”

“Nooo--”

“Yes!--”

“What have they reduced you to?”

“Right?!” He was playing she knew, but Goten had uncovered a nerve, “he announced it in front of _everyone_ as my punishment, Duran said I was dead to him and should move downstairs.”

He nudged her again. “Nothing wrong with being a columnist--”

“Facts are optional for them. They have _opinions_ , Goten.”

“Weird, pretty sure you have plenty of those.”

She returned his mocking smirk. “Har har, not at work. I’m supposed to be uncovering shady connections between the elite, not… not tearing down ‘celebrities’.”

He sucked his teeth. “Is that what Red wants you to do?”

“No,” the fight left her a little then, “he doesn’t mind exactly what, he made noises like he wants it to be ‘honest’ and ‘about my experiences’. I guess he thinks we have more of the story to tell than just your brother but that’s hardly persuasive writing.”

“Relax! It’ll come to you, I know it. Meanwhile,” his eyes were lighting up with a new idea, “if we have an official date for the end of our lives we need to go out in style. A huge party the night before.”

Her heart warmed at the attempt to lift her from the ensuing fugue of work, though she caught a snag. “That would be great, but we can’t host huge.”

“Of course _we_ can’t but we know _who_ can,” he winked. _Of course,_ “and we go in through the front door heads held high - like when we were kids. Screw the old ladies and paps! No more hiding on ceilings or getting trapped under T’s desk for hours.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Like you never had to.” Admittedly she’d had a few close calls with staff busting into the Capsule Corp private quarters with emergencies, she’d give him that much. He called up to Goku. “Hey, buddy! You want to play with your cousins this weekend?”

He didn't answer, distracted by bouncing his balloon along with his father’s footsteps.

“Bud?” Goten waved a hand in from of where he guessed Goku’s face was. The wrong hand. The one with the watch. Goku’s eyes tracked the forbidden toy.

 _‘Don't touch buttons without asking’_   was, in Marron and Goten’s childhood, one of the biggest lessons to learn and one they were quick to instil in Goku’s. And whilst he would test boundaries their son would usually if reluctantly obey. So Marron waited a split second too long to intervene, Goku in his excitement forgetting the watch was now out of bounds and lunging for it.

“No!” She managed to yank away Goten’s wrist but it was too late. His arm, his entire body flickered for a split second before erasing, leaving her holding a black hole in the world. They stared at each other for a moment, or at least Marron assumed so as to her he was now a bottomless chasm - the smooth, lycra-like fabric she gripped a membrane preventing her from falling in.

The allblack suit was just as its name - a true black. It reflected no light, rendering invisible any deformation in surface it covered. It only gave away the wearer’s ever-shifting outlines as they moved, making identifying the wearer - particularly in chaotic events or at night - nigh on impossible. But accidentally triggering the suit in broad daylight on a busy street with family in tow was another situation entirely. This was too serious for 'I told you so’s now or later.

The ramping of a high-pitched whine from Goku, still atop his father's shoulders, snapped them from their stupor. Goten slid over Goku and his satchel in one fluid motion to Marron, the boy more than happy to bury his face still whining in her blouse away from the unnaturalness in front of them. He was at her hip within three seconds, but those three seconds were a lifetime when an entire crowd of people ground to a halt around them. It only took a moment for them, like Goku, to shake themselves from their daze and find their voice.

“Oh my God!”

“It just appeared--”

“No, someone _dis_ appeared!”

Their incredulity grew in volume, complete strangers now uniting in confusion and fear in front of the void renched in the world. Goku peeped from his hideaway to blub. “Daddy’s gone…”

“I know sweetie, it's okay.”

“I didn’t do it...” He was more wishing than lying, and she wanted nothing more than Goten to part the fabric across his face and calm their son. In their attempts to keep safe Marron and Goten had never let Goku see the suits, powers or blatant flight with ki lest he mimic them or worse - let something slip. With his distress that decision looked to be backfiring.

“Hush, now.” She pleaded.

Finally a young woman, lifting her sunglasses up and down as though to test what she was seeing, solved the mystery. “It’s a Shadow…”

Goten moved slowly and with purpose, distancing himself from Marron but avoiding the press of bodies around them. Staying too still always invited curious hands trying to understand what the eyes could not. Whilst his body language was impossible to read his rising concern was palpable in ki to Marron. Eyes everywhere, a specimen in broad daylight. Nowhere to dart to. The street was clogging with bystanders already, and the news rippled back.

“They really ARE like shadows… I thought it was a TV trick.”

“Did you see what it looked like normal?”

“It was just some guy!”

“Does this mean something bad’s going to happen to us?”

“Oi, which Shadow are you?”

Hoping against hope, Marron stepped back to the edge of the nervous circle forming around Goten. No one had been paying them enough mind at first to remember his face, thank God. If she could just slip into the rabble unidentified he could take off too and... It didn’t work.

“Hey,” a hand clamped her shoulder. Marron spun to face a young man towering over her removing an earphone. “Weren’t _you_ with him?” The look was far too familiar these days - the frustrating mix of nervousness and defensive disdain. It was the look they often got from gawkers, although - she’d dryly noted before - never from those needing their help. Though without her own allblacks to protect her his eyes were meeting hers, connecting, searching, and her sardonicism was nowhere to be found this time.

Silence was their golden rule when Shadowing. A voice could be identified and a phrase quoted, repeated and obsessed over. With the young man’s question she fell into that instinct.

Marron’s lack of response only seemed to spur him on. “Well? Who is he? _What_ is he?” The interrogation aimed at Goten had fallen silent, now waiting on her.

“He’s… I don’t...” She couldn’t weave together a feasible enough lie to get them out. Goten tried to speak to her mind through ki then, though his help came through as garbled tinnitus as her heart raced and she struggled to focus in the acute spotlight. Red’s promised last week of freedom was cruelly making its own acrimonious exit out the window, and her stomach had lowered beyond what it was when stepping out of the elevator that morning.

“ _He_ ,” came a gentle voice from behind, “is a _very_ kind man who picked my grandson up from a fall.” The voice came from a kindly and weather-worn face, and familiar at that... The grandpa from the crossing! He must have been right behind them all the way. “He offered to carry the boy home for my daughter.” The old man smiled at her then, though she didn’t need encouragement to play along - Marron could have kissed him for the intervention. The audience snapped back to her for confirmation.

“We met in the park not long ago.” Goten’s flood of relief at her response hit her, too. “I hadn’t even asked his name.”

“More’s the pity, they looked a perfectly happy family.” His words were ladened with double meaning, “I wouldn't mind a man like _that_ as a son-in-law.” That earnt a smattering of nervous laughter, and Marron made sure to bury her wedding band under Goku’s arm to maintain pretence.

“News to me,” the young man drawled, not taken in, “I heard they were callous as--”

“Well you heard wrong.” came the stern reply.

Along with the demanding undertone to his voice, with the way the younger man drew himself up to his full height Marron could tell he was not used to being put in his place.

“Oh yeah?” He sneered, eyes on Goten. “They don't save everyone.”

“A wiser man would realise they can't.” The old man placed himself between Marron and the young man, stopping just short of poking him in the chest. “ _You’re_ just a pup, you wouldn't remember their first disaster here. People were grateful they saved who they could. What has it been, ten years?”

“Yes - I think.” Marron hastily added.

“Ten years of rescues with no parades or fans, unlike those ‘heroes’ and 'crimefighters’.” He dismissed them all with a wave of the hand, “and yet you demand more? No wonder he keeps to himself.”

A ripple of guilt went through the crowd. _Good._ From his uptick in mood Goten must have felt it too; they might get out of this yet.

“We should at least get to know _what_ they are.” Came the bite back, “what did he look like?” The old man raised his chin, a show of defiance. “Well?” The interrogator wheeled onto Marron again, “I was behind you, you two were talking enough. He had a green shirt. What else? Nice hair? Pretty eyes?” she stared him down, knowing averting her gaze again would draw more suspicion.

He snorted in derision in answer to himself then paused, staring at the boy sat at her hip. He ducked past the older man and reached, causing Goku to flinch away, “kid, what did h--”

Goten had him by the shoulder before Marron had even stepped back. Both men were the same height, though for sure Goten had the bulk and breadth, and the allblacks drew the eye in such a way that - as tempered as the irritation bubbling through his ki was - his outline appeared formidable. Goku let out a tiny gasp at the sight. His was the only sound, all others from the city dulled by the multitude of bodies around them.

And yet the young man would not back down. “So you’re throwing your weight around now? Above the rest of us are we? Your stupid suit doesn’t scare me.” In a burst of rage he swung. Goten lazily dodged but the young man’s hand, fingers now outstretched, raked across his face, seeking purchase. He was trying to unmask him... Marron swallowed a rising fear. What if someone else joined the fray? One person was easy enough to deflect but two? Three? A dozen? Not without injuring a member of the public.

But no one else made a move to help either side, still mesmerised by the hole in the world before them.

He tried again, this time faster, aiming straight for Goten’s face. An easy enough move to turn aside and Goten did with a growing sense of disappointment, taking care to to make it abundantly clear to the wall of eyes he was on the defensive yet perfectly capable.

With a yell of frustration the young man made a third attempt to grab at a non-existent facemask but missed completely, the lack of depth-perception the allblacks triggered upsetting the young man’s aim and he almost lost balance. The surprise took the wind from his sails and he stared at his hand in disbelief. It was a shocked confusion Marron had seen before, wondering if his hand had passed through a real shadow.

“Come on, son,” the older man took advantage of the lull to gently taking his other shoulder this time, “that’s enough. I’m sure the Shadow heard you loud and clear.”

“But it isn’t right!” He appealed to the masses around them, “you think the E.R.E. _really_ controls them? _No one_ can. Someone should hold them accountable.” But the audience sensed his defeat and couldn't meet his eye. Rejected he threw one final barb at Goten. “Fine. You get your way, again. Enjoy flying away or whatever it is you freaks of nature do to avoid responsibility.” Without even a glance towards Marron and the old man the younger replaced his earphones and barged off, leaving the circle stunned at the display, the tension following him moments later. Everyone let go of the breath they were holding, a few friendly mutterings of disbelief and nervous chuckles went through the crowd.

As relieved as Marron was, the kid was right. It _was_ unfair that they should get to decide who and when to help, but from where she was standing... With any luck he wouldn’t find Gohan’s book this week, and by the time her name and face were associated with ki in the press he would have forgotten exactly what she looked looked like. Though, to get that wish would use up a lot of luck, and most of it had probably just been spent here.

The slightest of gaps between bodies had been left by his exit, finally creating an escape route of sorts for Goten. His hesitation at having to pass so close to people caught him one final question.

“ _Can_ you fly?” Ah. There it was, from the young woman who had recognised him as a Shadow in the first place. Her tone was gentle this time, the type you’d use speaking to an animal you’re trying not to spook.

 _[Opinion?]_ Marron almost jumped at Goten’s simple question pinging at the edge of her mind. He was in profile, facing the curious woman, but his attention was firmly on her. Performing on demand wasn’t really in their remit but then again neither was wearing allblacks as casual wear.

 _[Fine]_ , she flooded him with warm thoughts as affirmation. After all, it couldn’t do any more harm.

There was a shift in weight at her hip and Goten turned to face them. Against his fear Goku was leaning towards the scary apparition. He’d quietened at the charged exchange, and had evidently decided from observation the nightmarish figure wasn’t so bad afterall. He was now holding out his hand with the balloon, string unwrapped and clasped in his pudgy fingers.

“Sweetie?”

“To fly. Find my Daddy.” His face was set, offering his help. The chorus of coos around them, reading something completely different into his words, caused him to shake the balloon and his face to screw up further in determination. “Take!”

Goten approached as slowly as he could. To Goku’s credit he only shied away a little at the void of a hand looming overhead... Though it was to only ruffle his hair as always and the boy laughed in relief, at the familiarity of the gesture, happily passing the string to the friendly stranger.

“I think the Shadow said yes.” That wasn’t _quite_ what Goten was up to, but the translation worked for the crowd. “What do we say?”

“Thank you have a nice day!” Goku sang. Marron sighed. _Close enough._

At that Goten flashed a palm-forward salute and let the balloon tug him upwards for the second time. A perfect mime of a dead-weight buffeting along in the breeze. _Show off._ Whilst those around them laughed, Goku was a little more pensive, the cogs in his head whirring and spitting out an answer he didn’t quite yet understand. He stared on, touching where Goten had mussed his hair. A question began to form on his lips.

“We’ll talk about it later.” Marron said, cutting him off.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” And they would, although she’d make Goten keep his word - he’d definitely be bearing the brunt of the explanation.

With Goten’s ever-increasing altitude more and more of the public understood the hold-up and began their own hushed discussions in surprise. _(Is that a Shadow? - My cousin saw one once in West City - They really are shadows!)_  The crowd distracted, Marron could finally whisper to the old man in front of her. “Thank you.”

He shook his head. “No.” That warm glint in his eye returned. “My son never made it out of East’s quake of ninety-eight, but my grandchildren did. So thank _you_.” Together they watched Goten’s final wave before he hugged the balloon tight for its own protection and streaked across the sky. “I know why, but you can’t keep silent forever. You need to defend yourselves.” He offered her his briefcase-less arm with a smile. “Come, ‘daughter of mine’, I’ll walk you both home.” She took it gladly.

And with that - despite the looming uncertainty of the lashback and even knowing how painful at times it would be to express in words - Marron knew what she had to write, where to start, and knew she’d have that first draft to Red by morning.


	3. "You might have heard of me..."

I was eight years old and in hospital, the cliché picture with a band aid on forehead and arm in splint. Mom hadn’t sat the entire time she’d been at my bedside - all three hours to that point. Lovingly fretting, you ask? Nope. Glaring down at me. I knew she was, her arms were folded and her weight shifted from one foot to the other as her exasperation grew, but I hadn’t dared to look all the way up to check. Eventually she cracked. 

“ _What_  have I  _told_  you?” 

That day would be the first time my mom’s most important lesson made sense to me, though it would take a number of years for me to fully absorb it. 

We were at recess. A group of classmates pulled me to one side. Their frisbee had got stuck in the tree, too high for anyone to throw a ball and knock.  _Could you fetch it for us?_  I wasn’t sure, it was pretty high and far out on the branch.  _But you know how to climb trees,_ they said _, you climb the highest and fastest out of everyone. Won’t you help? It’s not fair if you don’t, you only need to shake the branch a little…_ They had a point. I was the best, and it wouldn’t be hard for me to do. They wouldn’t get it back that recess otherwise, so I agreed with a smile. 

It  _was_  high up. Even with my speed, by the time I reached the branch in question the gaggle of classmates had swollen to half the playground cheering me on, finally attracting the attention of horrified teachers. One called out, I panicked at their tone and slipped, slamming my head on a branch and landing with one arm outstretched futilely to break my fall. 

Apparently I went thud. I don’t remember that last part, though my classmates would argue over the exact noise for a week. I  _do_ remember being pinned to a board in the back of an ambulance, trying to get the paramedics to understand my mom was going to kill me if she found out. Too late, they said, she was on her way to the hospital. She’ll be there already, I said, to which they laughed. They stopped with a choke when they opened the back of the ambulance and there she was, glowering up at me with her jaw set. That was the last time I would look her in the eye for the next few hours. 

We said nothing to each other, save her sharp ‘well?’ when I was expected to answer a question she couldn’t. I passed through the hands of baffled trauma teams then X-ray staff to the children’s ward doctors. They could find nothing wrong with me other than a mild concussion, an associated graze, and a sprained wrist from my failed attempt to completely break my fall. I was very lucky, they repeatedly told me, I should have been killed from that height. I was to stay in overnight for observation. I guess they thought they’d missed something. After checking me over for the umpteenth time the final doctor left, then our stubborn battle began in earnest. 

I’m not sure why she caved first for once. Maybe because the other adults were doting on their poorly kids and glancing over like she had two heads, or because some of the other inmates were whispering about the chill in the air as her eyes bored into my skull. Most likely she knew Dad’s imminent arrival would undermine whatever lesson she had planned, his hugs and kisses ruining the gravitas, so she started as though I’d made a noise first.

“ _What_  have I  _told_ you?” 

It wasn’t a riddle. We’d talk after every episode of my favourite superhero cartoons, each time my Uncle appeared on TV as The Great Saiyaman, when I’d slip and call the martial arts and ki-techniques she was teaching me ‘superpowers’. Her mantra formed the closing lines of the bedtime stories of my parents’ hard-won battles.

 _You always have a choice,_  she’d say. But she didn’t understand, I  _did_ choose! It made sense to help. I was the best at climbing and was the only one who– She grabbed my chin in one hand, forcing me to look her in the eye, her usual move when she wanted her words to stick. I think that’s when she got reported for her unorthodox parenting style, but that’s another story.

“ _That_  isn’t giving yourself a choice. You don’t have to risk yourself to help  _anyone_ , do you understand me?” 

I now appreciate why my mother was so vexed that day. It wasn’t at me, more it was with herself at not hammering home the message hard enough and soon enough. 

There’s a painful double standard in the world. We tell our kids to have big dreams and to do what makes them happiest, but the moment a child shows aptitude for something society finds useful they’re cajoled and pushed. Dare to take a different path and the interrogation become endless.  _I don’t understand,_  the people say,  _you’re so talented, why didn’t you follow your ideal career? Didn’t you want to be rich, or successful, or famous, or powerful? You could have_ been _someone. We had_ such _high hopes. If_ I  _were you…_ Those words sting, no matter the context or love with which they’re said. I’ve heard them a lot the past few days from confused colleagues and I don’t expect that to stop as the news filters out. 

Like all parents in some respects, my mom was fretting over whether she was doing the right thing. On the one hand her teaching would grant me immunity to most of life’s dangers. When my training was finished forget a fall, I could get hit by a truck and not budge an inch. On the other those same abilities would put me in the position to help when no one else could. If found out I would become a commodity to society, it would be deemed unreasonable and even irresponsible of me to decline to help and I’d be trapped. Even at that young age people were already tugging at my sleeves demanding small but potentially dangerous things. Like climbing trees. They’d sensed how easily my arm was twisted and over the years the pleading escalated. I’d see their distress and agree to help with that smile. Fetching balls from busy roads. Standing up to bullies. Chasing down a friend’s stolen phone - the mugger could have turned a gun on me at any point but I did as I was asked by my friend’s wordless yell. After all, who else right then and there could have helped her?

Before I could blink I had a reputation. Classmates questioned why I wanted to go to college to write and not follow my dad into the police force, or even register to be a Crimefighter. Some were even angry.  _You’d be so good, so famous, I bet you’d be the best! You have so much potential - you shouldn’t waste it! I don’t understand - if_ I _were you…_  I’d hidden as much of my training as I could and yet because I was so easily swayed to see the ‘common sense’ in helping they knew I was capable of something more than them. Escaping the path then dictated to me by society took a strength of will I would never have gained if it wasn’t for my family’s unwavering support. Without it I may have gone on to do my ‘duty’, that smile still plastered on my face, and hated every moment.

I may have sworn off a life of crime-fighting but I couldn’t turn my back completely. My closest friends, far more gifted in this arena than myself, went through the same struggle. We didn’t want the attention or the pressure of daily Hero work, we wanted a normal life to cling to. But we’re human to a fault - we couldn’t ignore all the world’s troubles. So instead we Shadowed, the best compromise we stumbled upon. We could move freely through the world as mere citizens, helping when  _we_  chose - not when summoned. Expectation still dogged us, though. When out the public saw my allblacks not as a way to conceal my identity but as a uniform, a promise to help. They’d hide behind me, just like they would any named Hero or Crimefighter.  _I_  may have been free to come and go but in the moment my station was not. 

Shadowing came with a price; without an identity we lack a voice in defence and we became an easy target. We receive praise but it’s sparing, quite rightly the bulk is reserved for the plain-clothed volunteers on the ground. But once, where we were a welcome boost to the effort, nowadays our presence at disasters is expected. We’d fallen into doing our ‘duty’, though not correctly as we had the audacity to hide our faces and not give the journalists a sporting chance to hunt us down, and it drew their ire. I’d have to bite my tongue reading colleagues disparage us across the pages and even I couldn’t write too empathetically, lest my identity and connections become obvious. At times the lack of public understanding drove me to tears. Yet as the years passed Mom continued to stare me down.  _You still have a choice_. But I did choose, I wasn’t a Hero really, I just needed to stay a little longer next time. Be more thorough, be faster. Do that then it’d be okay, people would be satisfied. She’d shake her head.

Then the true insignificance of this noise I’d been bending over backwards to placate became stupidly obvious with the arrival of something far worse than some natural disaster. For the briefest of moments the nonsense fell away, and I finally understood her.

Imagine standing in front of a man thousands of times more powerful than you could ever be. He’s willing to let you and the people you care about live if you just stepped aside. “What’s worth saving,” he says, “who here is worth dying for?” Imagine wondering, after days of headlines trashing you for a mistake you were more than capable of beating yourself up over, whether there even was a point to trying anymore. Nothing would ever be enough. You could leave, you could be safe. You’re not obligated to save the ingrates on this rock time and time again. What difference could your puny ass make, anyway? Why risk your life for literally nothing? Those you care about would understand. You even plan, your foot twitches to move. 

You should walk away.

But you don’t.

Because it’s  _your_  home he wants and you’ll be  _damned_  if you’re handing it over.

And that’s what my mom meant by making a free choice. Not to act because you’re asked or shamed or want to please everyone, but because  _this_  time you think it’s the right thing to do, even for selfish reasons.  _Especially_  for selfish reasons. Screw duty, unbeholden to anyone you choose to act - whether it conforms to noble expectation or not. Mom may be the type to walk away in moments like that and I know she’d rather I follow suit, but all my parents have ever truly wanted is the weight of responsibility off my shoulders. As long as I have no regrets or guilt they couldn’t be happier for me. With that one terrifying decision made in spite of the ocean of faces hiding behind me, from then on I really didn’t care what people thought of my Shadowing.

We were told we could leave that day, that we should. We’d have a better chance on the run. But until we have no other option we’re staying. Despite all its flaws this is our home and we made up our minds back then to not budge.

Next time we appear remember: we choose freely to walk through fire, toss aside that rubble, carry you above rising waters and yes, risk death literally defending the planet. All because we want to, not because it is expected of us. The words in the media and in idle chatter around us can still leave a bitter taste at times but I can safely say they won’t lead me to dwell. Say what you want to me -  _If_ I _were you…_  but you’re not. Tough.

The name the media and public use for me is Auntie Shadow, but between us, dear reader? My name is Marron, and this is how Shadowing came to pass.


End file.
